


Unseen Dangers

by AgateHearts



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drama, Gen, The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-28 18:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17188253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgateHearts/pseuds/AgateHearts
Summary: Danger is nothing new for Chirrut Îmwe. But when an important job takes Baze Malbus away for a week, hidden threats rise and Chirrut finds himself wrestling with an unexpected menace.





	Unseen Dangers

“I have to go now, Chirrut.”  
  
Chirrut could hear Baze moving, packing quickly; he carried all the firepower he could possibly need on his back, but he was collecting necessities in addition to protection: dehydrated food, pressurized water packs, the extra conductor cell for his cannon. That last was not a sign of peace; either Baze was planning to use that many rounds against the slavers, or charge his shots for extra destructive power. Either way, mayhem was in the offing—mayhem _sans_ Chirrut—and Chirrut felt his stomach sink.  
  
Chirrut rose and moved around Baze, a comfortable dance in the confined space of their apartment; he could sense Baze looking at him when he heard the rattle of the tea tin in Chirrut’s hand. Chirrut hefted it lightly, presenting the tin to Baze with a flourish. Baze paused, silent, and Chirrut grinned at him, nodding. “Nothing will remind you to come back quickly to the comforts of home like chav. _I’ll_ keep the Tarine,” he declared.  
  
Baze grunted a pleased laugh, and Chirrut’s grin went from forced to genuine as he felt the tin lifted from his fingers, the _vwip_ of metal safely stowed in straining cloth. “I’ll bring more back,” Baze promised, “Chav and caf. Even slavers won’t be able to stop me.”  
  
Chirrut hummed in agreement. His hand flexed against the side of his robe, and he found himself wishing for his staff in his hand so he could turn it in his fingers. When it was close he could listen to the brightness of the crystal in its end, rippling and echoing against the one in Baze’s braid-end, a ping of light that transcended sight. But his hands were now empty, and he heard Baze seal the flap over his gear, settling it beside the cooling tank for his cannon. Baze came and stood before him, and Chirrut lifted his chin, face tilted in the direction at his friend’s face, this time without smiling, just listening to him breathe. He heard Baze sigh.  
  
“I have to go, Chirrut.”  
  
“I know.” Chirrut bit down on the protests curling around his tongue, took a deep breath in through his nose. Instead he offered, “I’ll get any new intel to you. I can ask Charï for a favor, they owe me.”  
  
Baze barked another laugh. “And here I thought your alms could fit in your bowl, dreamer.”  
  
The nickname made Chirrut grin widely. “Not when they’re earned through giving a beating to those who would give a beating to others. Favors are a more . . . _favorable_ currency.” He tilted his head down, listening to Baze breathe. His presence was comforting, solid, and Chirrut tried to sink into the moment, hold on to what it felt like. The Force was not resisting this: the call to go Baze felt, the opposite call to stay Chirrut felt, the parting, be it only temporary. Still, despite how important Chirrut knew it would be for him to stay—to pass on crucial information if Baze went haring off in the wrong direction—he disliked Baze going off like this into unmeasured danger.  
  
“I'll be out of reach for at least a week. After that—I’ll call when I can.” Chirrut nodded at Baze’s factual statement, accepting the separation, the difficulty. This was part of what Baze did. _At least he’s staying on the moon this time._  
  
“I’ll bring them back.” Baze’s voice was heavy, and Chirrut lifted his chin quickly, his voice firm.  
  
“You will. Kaya and Killi will take good care of any orphans you bring back, Baze.” Chirrut sniffed. “Those kids always know you’re as soft as lüdou paste at heart, even with that thing on your back.” Chirrut knew why they liked him. Baze felt _safe,_ trustworthy, strong to protect and soft to speak. Adults feared him but kids could see his heart, as Chirrut did. Chirrut wished again he had his staff in hand, to clack firmly on the cool stone of the floor, to add emphasis to his next words. “Be careful, old friend.”  
  
“I will. Don’t pick fights while I’m gone.”  
  
Chirrut laughed. “ _You’re_ telling me that?” He felt Baze chuckle again, then said primly, “You don’t have to worry. A blind man in the market is a known and boring sight by now. You, on the other hand—“  
  
“I’m picking my fights _carefully._ ” That made Chirrut laugh again, but only briefly; his heart panged as he heard Baze adjust his cannon, his cooling reservoir, his pack with his gear. “Once we get the kids back and root out the slavers I’ll return. I have help, this time, and even the blessing of the authorities for once. The money’s just a bonus.” Chirrut snorted, and Baze came to stand in front of him again. His voice was softer this time. “I really have to go, Chirrut.”  
  
“I know.” Chirrut could feel Baze’s hesitation, his concern. He knew his friend wasn’t afraid for Chirrut’s physical safety—Chirrut could manage himself in a fight—but being separated like this unsettled both of them. They had both lost too many people that had been too dear to them both.  
  
Impulsively Chirrut held out his hand, fingers outstretched in the cool air of the room. After a couple heartbeats he felt Baze’s hands enfold his, warm and firmly gripping, tiny callouses at the junction of the fingers and palms half-hiding beneath Baze’s partial gloves. They stood like that a few moments, silent communication between them saying _peace, trust, courage._  
  
They released their grip at the same moment, and Chirrut followed Baze to the door, standing straight in the portal as Baze strode away. “May the Force be with you,” Chirrut said quietly. Baze’s crystal chimed one last time before getting muffled and lost in the sounds of the city beyond their building. Closing the door, Chirrut sighed, then unerringly made his way to where his outer robe lay folded, his staff leaning on the wall beside it. Even at this early hour the market was waiting: pilgrims eager to hear of the glories of NiJedha’s past, the Force weaving among them all, and the chance of whispered messages to land in Chirrut’s ears. Baze would return, soon enough, as the Force willed it.  
  
Chirrut hoped the Force willed it _soon._

  
❊    ❊    ❊

  
Chirrut’s feet crunched faintly against the drifting sand as he walked home, face set against the cold wind pushing at him in fitful gusts. The day at the market had been strange; the intermittently growing and dying wind had set people on edge, made them prone to startling, to distraction. Chirrut’s calls had attracted the usual attention, but keeping people focused was beyond even him on this day. The few Jedhan knots that had been dropped in his bowl he’d passed on without a qualm to one of the food merchants. He knew she would give help to those in need, and her voice was warm and knowing as she thanked him. The cold wasn’t enough to make him shiver, but he felt washed out, his focus swept away in the eddying winds as he approached home.  
  
The stairs were quiet, the building strangely empty-feeling. Chirrut, feeling weary, paused at the top of the stairs to the second level, then walked with silent footfalls down the familiar path to the door of his and Baze’s apartment. His foot crunched on something just outside their door; it sounded like a shard of porcelain, shattering with a tiny _pwik!_ as his heel came down. Chirrut frowned. When he reached out to the door, his hand hit it too early, startling him; it was askew, hanging off one side, ragged edges bowed and damaged by a fierce blow.  
  
Adrenaline shot sickening fire through Chirrut’s veins and whipped around his stomach like tangling vines, making his fingers tighten on his staff and his leg muscles tense. His ears strained to hear any sound of movement within the space before him, but all he heard was silence and the rushing of his blood in his ears. All he could think of was the slavers, or their allies, coming here, somehow _knowing_ to come _here,_ endangering their neighbors, endangering _Baze—_ He swallowed down the rush and stepped forward through the portal slowly, surely, arm holding his staff outstretched, senses straining. Whoever it had been, they seemed to be gone, only a faint draft wisping past his face into the room through the wrecked door.  
  
The room sounded all wrong, the shape of things askew. He stumbled as his shin bumped a piece of furniture upended in the middle of the floor even as his toe kicked aside more broken dishes with a ceramic tinkle. He froze, breathing as quietly as he could, settling his shoulders, chanting silently to calm his raw senses. _I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. I am one—_  
  
“ _What—?!_ ”  
  
Chirrut whipped around at the shout from the doorway, the sound abruptly cut off, then resuming even louder, the raspy voice livid. After a second Chirrut recognized it as that of Karrakil, the building owner, and his heart sank. “Îmwe! What _happened?_ You trashed the place?!”  
  
Chirrut stammered, taken off-guard for once. “N, no! No, this was—someone else—“  
  
Karrakil was shouting again, incensed. “Look at that damage! This is awful—“ Chirrut heard him gasp. “They ripped it out of the _wall—"_ Chirrut stumbled aside as the landlord shoved him out of the way carelessly, crushing other fragments of Chirrut and Baze’s shared lives under his feet as he moaned, “And the _hideous scrawl on the plating—_ Do you _see_ this—“ He fell silent suddenly, but Chirrut didn’t feel like making a joke. Not like this, not now.  
  
“What does it say?” His voice was quiet, seemingly calm on the surface, but his every nerve was tingling.  
  
The landlord pointedly cleared his throat, and Chirrut turned toward him, leaning forward on his staff, eyes aimed as closely as he could approximate at the man’s face. Karrakil started, “‘Get out! Sand-stirrers, kyber thieves, you…’” The landlord’s voice faltered as he mumbled over the rest of the epithets scrawled on the plaster, finishing with “'. . . die. Die. Die.’” The man’s voice fell silent, then rang out again, disgusted and determined. “That’s _it._ You’re out. You can’t stay here—“  
  
Chirrut slashed his staff against the floor with enough force to cut the man off mid-sentence, his spine lightsaber-straight, his lips tight. “ _No._ I’m not leaving. This is my home—“  
  
“This is _my building!_ ” Karrakil broke in, harsh. “I can’t have people trashing the place—“  
  
“I have to stay,” Chirrut said, low but strong. His heart sank, anxiety gnawing at the edges of his consciousness as he argued for something he wasn't even sure he really wanted. “Ba— _People_ have to be able to find me, people who need me, people that I need—“  
  
“No.” Karrakil was intractable.  
  
Chirrut growled and glared, feeling scattered, like balba petals caught by the wind skirling in a corner. “Give me another choice! We paid you in advance—“  
  
“Not what it’s worth you didn’t—“  
  
“I have to stay!”  
  
Chirrut’s protest hung in the air between them, and Chirrut gritted his teeth. The landlord’s voice was choppy, harsh, when he replied. “Fine. Fine, but not here, not this apartment. If you’re that determined then you can have the basement space, and _only_ until the end of the planetcycle. You’ve paid through then. After that you’re _out._ ” His voice was rough when he went to the door. “Come now. Move whatever pieces you can scrape together down there tonight. Whatever’s still in here tomorrow morning is going straight down the chute to the desert floor! I’m clearing out the rest so if whoever did this comes back they will see there’s _no reason_ to bother me, or anyone else, looking for you!”  
  
Chirrut glared laser bolts in the man’s direction, but . . . _I can’t endanger anyone. And with Baze out of touch for at least a week, I need to stay close so he can find me, without risking anyone else or being too obvious . . ._ He followed the landlord, heart low, lips set, counting his steps as they descended into the unknown space of his new temporary home.

  
❊    ❊    ❊

  
The basement space felt bad. Karrakil abruptly dropped Chirrut in front of the door, slapping a key into his free hand and muttering, “End of planetcycle at the _latest._ I want you out _as soon as possible._ ” He grumbled as he turned away, “No windows. You won’t care, it’s not like you’re here for the view. Or could appreciate it.” Chirrut didn’t argue, his spirit depressed and anxious at the unexpected events of the day.  
  
_Not for long,_ he thought, _I’ll stay until Baze gets back. If he’s not back soon I’ll try to send a message. One week, at most, and if I have to find a new place before then I can tell Kaya and Killi._ Somehow he doubted Karrakil would be happy to tell Baze where Chirrut had gone, or want Chirrut to linger in the area waiting. The landlord had left Chirrut standing in front of a closed portal; Chirrut felt for the lock, opened it with a quick pass of the key. The heavy door groaned as it swung into the empty space.  
  
Chirrut explored the two interlocking rooms quickly: an L-shaped main area with a tiny cooking space and sink fitted around a similarly minuscule ‘fresher. The ‘fresher in the back of the space was claustrophobic, the unpowered pocket door the only way he could close it off; it was a cheap sonic, not even water. To get to it he’d have to step over where he slept. Both rooms were cramped, awkwardly shaped, and musty. Cold stale air mixed with crumbling plasticrete to make Chirrut’s mouth dry and sticky as he coughed from the dust stirred up by his movements.  
  
Chirrut relocked the door and returned upstairs. Once again he paused in the opening of what so recently had been his and Baze’s home, so abruptly invaded, so abruptly cut away. If the pain of losing the Temple had been a bleeding gash, this sting was that of breaking a finger; a manageable loss, but startling and painful nonetheless. He gripped his uneti-wood staff, crystal at its apex chiming faintly. He strained to hear, to reach into the Force to gather any clues about what had happened, what he could sense about who had done this; but all he got was random pulses of unease, colorless coils that seemed to snake throughout the building as a whole.  
  
He hadn’t been standing there long when he heard soft footfalls, and an equally soft voice behind him. “Hello? Guardian Îmwe?”  
  
Chirrut turned, surprised, still standing in the doorway. The voice sounded familiar in the way that a song heard through someone else’s window was familiar; not through personal experience, but as part of the background noise of one’s life. He inclined his head, waiting.  
  
He heard a small shuffle of feet, as though their owner were uneasy; he felt only a soft presence in the Force when he instinctively reached out, opening more than his eyes and ears. The being was a small presence shot with threads of reassuringly warm orange and gold. The voice came again, shy. “I . . . I’m Mirwen, Guardian. A—a neighbor, of yours, though, though we haven’t spoken.”  
  
The voice was getting quieter as though the speaker was losing courage, and despite the grimness Chirrut felt at the violation of his space laid out before him, he found a genuine smile to share. “Blessings of the Force be with you, Mirwen.” He tilted his head toward the doorway, making his voice light. “As you can see, I am unfortunately not equipped to receive guests right now—“  
  
“Oh no, I, I didn’t mean! I’m not a guest!” Mirwen’s interruption amused Chirrut, and he relaxed his grip on his staff. Before he could ask, Mirwen continued, voice stronger, “I, I know . . . what happened. And he’s— Karrakil’s putting you downstairs? But you need your things, and your, I mean, Guardian Malbus, he isn’t here . . . is he, so I . . . ” Chirrut leaned forward slightly, an encouraging smile on his face which widened as she finished timidly, “can I help? Help you pack your things, I mean?”  
  
Chirrut straightened, bowing his head slightly. A wash of relief trickled through him, releasing the strain slightly. “Mirwen. I would be glad of your help.”  
  
He could almost hear her smile, and a slap of her hand against what sounded like flimsi startled him. She spoke hurriedly at his small motion of curiosity. “I, I brought a box? In case you didn’t have one.” Her voice lowered almost to a whisper. “It’s not _right,_ ” she said fiercely, and Chirrut’s heart warmed at the unexpected sympathy.  
  
“That is very good of you, Mirwen. Please. Let’s . . . do this together.” Chirrut nodded again, leading the way into the ransacked apartment carefully. In less time than he would have thought, and certainly less than he could have wished, he was making his way down the stairs again, box in his arms and Mirwen’s soft farewell gentle in his ears. He awkwardly unlocked the door and pressed inside, pushing it closed behind him and sighing as he set down his burden.  
  
He hadn’t been able to salvage much. Not that he and Baze had collected many things in the first place; the unseen obstacles of their things broken and scattered across the floor had made navigating their upstairs rooms hazardous. Mirwen’s help had been invaluable, her soft questions and careful movements soothing. She hadn’t spoken of the words scrawled on the walls, a sensitivity Chirrut appreciated as they put the last of the scant undamaged and salvagable items into the crate for Chirrut. Now he was alone in the new bare space, his and Baze’s sleeping pallets heaped atop the other things he’d brought here.  
  
Chirrut paced out the empty space, swinging his staff carefully. He had told Mirwen he was leaving soon, but not where yet; easy enough for him to keep it among friends except for a quiet word here and there to Baze’s contacts. Whoever had ransacked their place could come back at any time; better for them to find nothing and no one of note if they did.  
  
Chirrut turned around in the center of the space once more, frowning. He hated how there was no second exit to this place; no quick getaway or way to get around if someone came. He had to find a better option, and as soon as possible. It was unlikely he’d be bested in a fair fight, or even an unfair one; but if he was stunned in his sleep or otherwise caught, and used against Baze . . . The thought made his blood rise up hot and pulsing in his neck, and he pushed the anger away, falling back on his quietly spoken mantra. “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me . . . "  
  
He kept murmuring the words as he laid out the pallets, side by side as always, and carefully put both his and Baze’s few salvaged personal items in out-of-the-way places where he would remember them. By the time he’d finished, he was feeling the lateness of the day and the weight of all that had happened, and despite the dust and the chill and the musty edge to the air he was exhausted enough to lie down and fall asleep almost immediately.

  
❊    ❊    ❊

  
Chirrut didn’t sleep well. Despite how quickly he dropped off, and the gluey drowsiness that clung to him when he woke, he segued into consciousness with a sense of foreboding clouding the space around his head and plucking at his heart. As he sat for his morning meditation, he tried to breathe deeply and center himself, repeating his mantra quietly out loud. “I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me . . . ”  
  
A strange sound echoed behind the words, and Chirrut fell silent, listening. The sound faded as his voice did, so he resumed his mantra. “I am one with the Force . . . ”  
  
The sound was back. Chirrut kept speaking, “ . . . and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force and . . . ” The sound kept rising, a hum of electronics and air circulators, like a ship warming up before takeoff. Chirrut spoke louder over the sound. “The Force is with me! I am one with the Force!” The sound peaked, and Chirrut’s eyes snapped open. He swooped to his feet with one fluid movement, skirling in a circle and dropping low into a defensive stance. The sound ebbed away quickly like water leaking through gaps in cupped palms until there was no sound but that of Chirrut’s harsh irregular breaths and the thunder of his heartbeat.  
  
Chirrut straightened, unnerved. The silence wrapped around him, and drowsiness gritted his eyes, made his limbs sticky. He went to the single door, taking up his staff; the familiar chime of the kyber crystal at its tip seemed to cut through the strangeness of the silence that shouldn’t have been strange at all. He straightened, murmuring, “And the Force is with me,” then left the space, locking the door behind him.

  
❊    ❊    ❊

  
Chirrut’s day was uneventful despite its tense beginning. The sliding warmth of the sun had seemed to smooth away the strangeness of the waking dream he’d experienced, and as he breathed deeply and settled into his daily routine he’d felt more energized, centered.  
  
He'd dropped a quiet word with Charï on the way here this morning, and she'd promised to keep her ears open, the news of his displacement making her furrow her brow. Chirrut had told her to wait and not contact Baze yet; he'd be in touch when he had a new place to land. There’d been no news of Baze, no news _for_ Baze except for the loss of their apartment, and after getting a meal from a friendly worm-noodle vendor he’d meandered back to his usual spot in the square the most circuitous way he knew. When he left as the day faded, he’d taken the time to pass the ruined Temple, pausing to hear the winds rushing over its walls, sweeping to the edges of the city and carrying on out into the sandy wastes. He paused, lost in the sensation, until he roused at feeling the coolness of the shadows falling fast as the sun dipped below the horizon, his steps galvanized toward home.  
  
Chirrut fought instinct and muscle memory as he entered Karrakil’s building, turning away from his usual rising path to the familiar (now gone, now broken, now stolen) expectation of returning home. Instead he headed cautiously to the echoing passage downward. He paused at the top of the stairs, listening; this time faint noises of life made their way through the thin walls, sounds of people talking, laughing, an entertainment holo blaring tinny music, brisk footsteps in the hall above until a door slammed. No sounds came from below, and he breathed out, moving silently and carefully down to the door of the new rooms.  
  
Under his questing fingers the door unlocked easily, and he slid into the quiet, undisturbed space, trying to settle as he sealed the door behind him. Once again the space had a strangely soporific effect; sounds felt muted, and Chirrut felt tired, the weight of unrealized exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders.  
  
He’d planned today on trying to go through what remained of his and Baze’s things, what Mirwen had packed that he had not touched. He wanted to sort out what he could mend before Baze returned, what he could replace, but instead he sighed and made his way to his pallet, preparing for sleep dreamily, soon sliding into it and closing his eyes. He drifted off much more swiftly than usual, mind chiming with the sound of dreamed kyber shards like a choir singing.

  
❊    ❊    ❊

  
Hands gripped his arms, his legs, pulling him spread-eagled, yanking him roughly sideways; they were holding him down. Chirrut’s head pounded; he’d woken all at once, the shock of the grip startling him to immobility— He should have been able to feel them coming, he should have woken, he never slept that deeply— The hands tightened roughly until he was sure he’d bruise, and with a shout he broke his immobility, yanking hard against the holds pinning him, rolling to leap out of bed and to attack. But when he jabbed an elbow into the space where a body should be, there was nothing but air.  
  
Chirrut overbalanced at the lack of resistance, falling to one knee, then rolled out of the motion, fetching up in a crouch with his back against the wall. His hand slapped down over his staff, and he flung it up in front of his face, horizontal in the guard position, panting with adrenaline. “Who’s there?!” he snapped, heart racing.  
  
His Force sense was murky, swirling like silt in heavy water; he couldn’t sense anyone or anything, his mind roiling. He poured all his attention into his hearing, listening for the rustle of cloth, the sound of breathing, the thud of a heartbeat; all he heard was the racing of his own. _Droids?_   He didn’t let down his guard. _But why would they let go? Why can’t I HEAR them?!_  
  
“Answer me!” His voice was harsh, frustrated, his stance taut, barely contained. The echo of the _me-e-e_ fragmented in the tiny space, bouncing from bare walls. His bare feet gritted against the floor, their shift the only thing moving. Without warning he spun, using his staff to sweep high and low, measuring the entire shape of the space in quick flicks and slashes, leaving no space for an enemy to stand, to dodge. He encountered nothing.  
  
Chirrut felt sweat on his forehead, his head pounding, limbs heavy as he straightened. Someone had been holding him, someone had been keeping him from moving. He was _sure_ of it. But… _No one is here._ “What is _happening?”_ he muttered, leaning abruptly on his staff, forehead against the end. The kyber crystal chimed, once again drawing his attention, smoothing the choppy surface of his mind.  
  
He would get no more sleep tonight, not even with the drowsiness that clung to him. “Could it really have been . . . a dream?” he murmured, then shook his head. He didn’t know what it was, but . . . The Force seemed to swirl around him, its current drawing at him gently in the direction of the door, leading up the stairs. Chirrut relaxed his guard fully, breathing out deliberately, then quickly dressed and followed the impulse.  
  
When he came out into the chill clarity of the air of Jedhan night, it was as if a weight lifted off of him. He didn’t need eyes to navigate at night any more than he did in the day, and it had been too long since he’d walked the city. The Force drew him on; he straightened his shoulders and moved quickly into the familiar darkness.

  
❊    ❊    ❊

  
Chirrut’s night walk was serendipitous. He found a child, a small human girl, curled against the wall in an alley, completely alone and freezing in the cold. When he gently shook her shoulder to wake her, offering her a gentle word of question, she turned with a hiccup and clung to him. Without hesitation he lifted her in his arms, chattering to her quietly, asking her questions and teasing her gently all the way to Kaya and Killi’s, where he arrived just in time to catch Killi at her first rising.  
  
After a few seconds of whispered conversation Killi moved to take her, but the girl buried her face in Chirrut’s chest, breath catching in her throat; Chirrut felt a wave of gentle affection as he gently stroked her hair, murmuring, “It’s all right, little Liara, they’ll take care of you here, give you breakfast and a bath and other good things besides. I’ll come visit you and the others soon, all right?”  
  
Liara raised a small hand to his face and he smiled, then made a silly scrunched-up face at her, coaxing a giggle out of her. She let go of Chirrut and went with Killi willingly as Chirrut waved, then slipped away into the streets where people were starting to move, to open stalls, to walk.  
  
Chirrut’s thoughts were meditative as he made his roundabout way to his favorite section of wall, getting an early start to his day of listening and speaking, sliding into the ebb and flow of NiJedha’s life. _All is as the Force wills it—even nightmares that seem too real to be just dreams. Fear might come for such a time as this, perhaps, for such a girl as Liara who needed help._ The Force was mysterious.  
  
He spoke confidently as he walked, ignoring those around him. “The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force.” His mantra felt like a bloom of sunlight in his chest, and he raised his chin and smiled at the new day.

  
❊    ❊    ❊

  
Another day, the second full day since he’d been thrust from their apartment and into a guarded new experience, and still no contact on any front from Baze. Chirrut hoped that no news meant good news, that Baze and the others would be able to tie things up quickly. Slavers were notorious for their dirty tactics, their lack of value on life, but Baze was Baze, and had local government support in addition to his own intel and firepower.  
  
Chirrut meant to explore other options for places to live that day, given that he’d risen so early and had so much time; but to his unexpected chagrin the warmth of the sunlight and the corner of his wall where he’d settled had led to him falling asleep sitting up, waking quite a while later to the sound of children giggling and small footsteps pattering away as he stirred. When he put his hand in his alms bowl expecting to find it empty from the urchins making off with his knots, he instead found a few scattered credits, a crumpled flower whose petals were synthsilk soft, and a plum so ripe and juicy its skin was almost bursting off. It tasted sweeter than kisses as he bit into it, and once again he felt a flush of calm gratitude.  
  
“The Force provides,” he murmured, then wished Baze was there to gripe at him, imagining his low rumble. _He’d say, “Old fool. Sapients dropping alms into your bowl provide, not the Force. Not that you’d notice them, drowsing in the sun like a bissop.”_ Chirrut grinned at the thought, then stifled a sigh. He polished off the fruit quickly, finding it just as sweet and ripe as its scent had promised, flicking the stone over the wall and slipping the credits into his pouch as he stretched.  
  
“Time for a demonstration,” he said out loud. _We’ll need extra credits to replace what was destroyed, and the_ duan _forms always draw a crowd._ For the first time he wondered— Did the slavers’ friends who had wrecked their rooms know exactly who they were, that they were Guardians of the Whills? _“One Guardian._ You _are a Guardian,” Baze would say in his disgruntled voice._ Would attracting attention draw them out?  
  
_If so—perfect._  
  
Chirrut’s lips tugged into a wide fey grin. “The Force surrounds us, fills us!” he shouted cheerfully, sweeping the tip of his staff smoothly in a circle, drawing a line in the dirt that enclosed him completely. _Let them come. Better than waiting for them to ambush in the night._ “In the motions of _zama-shiwo_ Guardians of the Whills show their connection to the Force, and their place in the flow of the universe! Find your place, as they find theirs! And maybe leave a credit or ten for the show!” He winked, and heard laughter from the people already starting to assemble even as he set down his staff and began to limber up.  
  
As a crowd grew, he began the smooth motions, the dance of self-discipline and connection to his own being and the Force. Credits and knots rang as they landed in his alms bowl, and he fell easily into the ever-more-complex forms, his mind settling and ears scanning for threats even as his body paced out the familiar motions. _The Force will protect me._ He imagined Baze snorting, and grinned wider. _And—my staff isn’t out of reach, either._  
      
When Chirrut flowed out of the last form into a resting stance, the surprisingly large crowd applauded. Chirrut heard a few familiar voices calling out “Guardian!” respectfully, and his smile grew. He felt legitimate shock when he picked up his bowl and almost dropped it at the unexpected weight. It was nearly overflowing with donations. He ran his fingers through them and his brows rose as he mentally tallied the different denominations present. With a few deft movements he concealed a good portion of the alms in safe places about his person, then swept the rest into a pocket. _A visit to Kaya and Killi is in order,_ he thought with a growing smile. The vendor who sold twisted sweets was on the way, and Chirrut would have more than enough this time to get the children a little extra treat.  
  
Again Chirrut felt the tug of the Force, more plain and clear than it usually was, and he followed. No prickles of anticipation or anxiety crawled on his neck, nor did he hear anyone following him. But still, he found himself wishing Baze had been there.

  
❊    ❊    ❊

  
The next two nights were uneventful. More than half the credits beyond what Chirrut had set aside for Kaya and Killi that Chirrut had earned had gone to those in need. Chirrut couldn’t help himself, not in hard times like this, and the supplicants had been deeply appreciative. Another significant percentage had gone to replacing a few things of Baze’s, including some tools so Chirrut could begin to repair the more valuable broken bits of machinery by touch.  
  
A windstorm had swept in that afternoon, sucking air from the buildings and liberally spreading sand across every surface, even in Chirrut’s new space, forcing him to shake out the two pallets and bemoan his lack of a whisk broom. It was the perfect time to be indoors—Chirrut didn’t need to see to navigate the streets safely, but no-one went abroad in a sandstorm if they didn’t need to, even within the sheltering walls of the mesa-top city. No pilgrims would throw chiming alms in his bowl in exchange for stories or predictions until the storm died down.  
  
Chirrut worried he’d miss Baze, four nights apart now; still within that predicted week, but stretching interminably. Chirrut wished idly he knew which apartment was Mirwen’s, that he could go say hello, but he couldn’t go knocking at every door in the place if he wanted to keep his continuing presence here quiet. Chirrut sat and fretted through an all-too-likely scenario: that Baze would return and go to their now-ruined apartment, find nothing but a broken door and hateful graffiti. He didn’t want to deal with the fallout of Baze grimly sweeping the city looking for him.  
  
A growing sense of pressure and anxiety had been building as the storm raged. Chirrut couldn’t shake the feeling that something was strange, that someone was watching. He wondered if it was paranoia, residual fear from the violation of their space, the strangeness of this transitional room that was not home and not not-home all at once.  
  
The feeling stemmed in part from an unexplained discovery. That evening after returning from visiting Kaya and Killi (little Liara was settling in well; already a local family had shown interest in taking her in, to Chirrut’s joy), he’d come across a cup of stone-cold Tarine tea on the tiny stove. The kettle was rinsed and put away, the spare tea tin dented from its misadventure but tightly sealed. He had no memory of making it. _But who else could have?_ The implications of the question prickled down his spine, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth as his ears strained to hear sounds that weren’t there as he rose and checked the lock on the door was engaged.  
  
Chirrut poured the tea away, giving the cup a cursory rinse and setting it beside the sink. After only a moment he went to check the door lock yet again before dragging his weary limbs to his blankets, sinking down into them and drawing them close around his neck.  
  
The last two nights Chirrut had slept with his staff beside the pallet. He had remade Baze’s place perfectly beside Chirrut’s own; it lay empty, a void of presence in the night where there should be breathing and quiet sounds of sleep. As Chirrut burrowed deeper into his blankets, the chill and mustiness rose and clung at his throat, his tongue; he swallowed and sighed, sucked down into sleep between breaths with the sigh still on his tongue.

  
❊    ❊    ❊

  
Chirrut struggled back to wakefulness; his body ached as though he’d been practicing _zama-shiwo_ in his sleep, and his head pounded. The air was still, and he stretched, trying to limber up his mind as he loosened his limbs and dressed, pulling on his shoes for good measure. He felt disoriented, confused; after a windstorm things often felt eerily quiet, but returning levels of raised activity usually quickly swept him up into its rhythms. When he felt next to the sink his fingers found no cup; frowning, he stepped forward, wondering if he had pressed it back against the wall—  
  
His feet crunched over broken porcelain. Chirrut’s breath caught. He bent carefully, fingers wary, but still pricked a fingertip on a sharp shard of ceramic as he felt for the cup. The back of his fingers encountered the metal kettle, strangely warped and dented; Chirrut’s heart rate began to rise and he swallowed hard as he rose, neck tense and ears straining.  
  
“How?” he said, voice echoing in the tiny space. Breathing slowly and shallowly, he listened with all his being for any sign of life in the space, reaching out with the Force; but nothing flickered in his senses. _Did someone get in?_ Once again it felt like the Force was drawing at him, a gentle current pulling toward the door; he followed, fingers falling on the seal and checking it. “Still locked?” he muttered, more confused. He flicked the seal free and pulled the door open a crack to be sure, then let it fall shut, leaning his forehead against it.  
  
_Who would do something so petty, so meaningless?_ He shook his head angrily, his ears feeling like they were stuffed with cloth. _Why didn’t I hear and wake up?_ He was so tired, head pounding despite his heavy sleep, with the Force still drawing at him like a strong wind.  
  
A wave of anger and frustration rose in him, and he lifted his chin. _I_ will _figure out what is going on. Who could be doing this._ He ignored the tug of the Force urging him out and away, instead dressing quickly and kneeling in the center of the room, eyes open, ears listening as he held his staff on his knees. He began speaking under his breath. “I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.” He slipped out of vocalizing, the words threading through his mind like a lifeline as his head throbbed, focus flickering. _I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. Iam one withthe Force, andthe Force iswith me. IamonewiththeForce, andtheForceiswithme—_  
  
The door opened.  
  
Chirrut was on his feet in a flash, tip of his staff jabbing fierce and fast toward the presence standing in the doorway. He twitched in shock as the kyber crystal in his weapon rang out, resounding in harmony with another. His ears caught up with his reflexes, hearing a familiar voice saying, startled, “Chirru—“  
  
With all his strength Chirrut redirected the staff sideways. The end pulverized the wall with a _crack!_ and stuck, quivering, in the surface.  
  
“—t!” the deep voice finished, then fell silent and still as Chirrut panted and clung to the staff’s length, his voice cracking as he straightened up unsteadily.  
  
“Baze?” His felt disbelieving, delighted, confused, and the room wavered around him. There was a sudden beeping, insistent, loud, and after a heartbeat he heard Baze suck in his breath through his teeth. Chirrut let go of the staff, meaning to step forward, but his limbs didn’t seem to get the message. He heard Baze swear, short and sharp, and felt himself land against a solid vertical surface that swept him free of gravity; Chirrut felt like he was sucked up and away from the mesa by the wind, blown free of his body, the beeping and the sound of Baze’s voice left behind. He wanted to go back, and he would, soon, he would . . .

  
❊    ❊    ❊

  
Chirrut woke to strangely echoing breaths in his ears, the pressure of elastic passing behind his head. He raised a hand, tried to touch his face; there was something in the way, and he startled, flinching away from it.  
  
“Chirrut. It’s all right.” Baze’s voice was low and gruff, but his hands were gentle. One caught Chirrut’s where it lay on the mask, turning it over and wrapping it in his own. The other came to rest on his head, touching his hair softly as Baze spoke, words measured and calm. Chirrut felt himself relax, mind clearing as he pushed away the confusion clouding his mind. “We’re at the orphanage. They were the nearest place to have the oxygen you needed. No, don’t try to take it off.” His hand tightened on Chirrut’s as Chirrut tried again to reach impatiently for the mask, his mouth full of questions. “You need to lie still and just breathe right now. Air poisoning’s a grim thing.”  
  
Baze’s hand was stroking his scalp, calming, more for Chirrut’s comfort or for Baze’s, Chirrut didn’t know. He was glad of it in that moment, and he squeezed Baze’s hand, tilting his head to hear him better. Baze harrumphed a laugh, an unexpectedly heartening sound, and said wryly, “Even if you can’t see with your eyes, you speak with them so loudly I’m almost deafened. I’ll tell you what happened.” Chirrut nodded emphatically, almost dislodging the mask, and Baze took his hand away to carefully adjust it, pressing it back down over Chirrut’s mouth and nose. The air tasted sweet, almost intoxicating, and Chirrut relaxed back as he listened to Baze’s words.  
  
“We caught the slavers quickly.” Chirrut’s eyes must have widened in surprise, because Baze snorted. “That startling that we had the drop on them? We had surprise, and our intel was good. We caught the whole gang, no stragglers, by the end of the third day.” Baze cleared his throat, then said with a husk of regret in his voice, “They didn’t have any slaves with them. The missing ones must have already been sold. Children, too.” His voice strengthened, evening. “But now that they’re caught, there’s a chance they can trace the sale and free them. There’s a chance.”  
  
Chirrut tightened his hand around Baze’s wrist, offering the support of touch back, and Baze grunted a laugh, taking Chirrut’s hand in his own. “The rest was… infuriating. The delay in getting back was paperwork and bureaucracy at its finest. Squeezing the money they promised out of them was like squeezing water from a ithrok, but they finally coughed up.”  
  
His hand slid down to Chirrut’s shoulder, and his voice turned serious. “I stopped by the orphanage on the way, to give them some of the money, and Kaya told me that you’d moved. She didn’t know the details, but…” He grunted. Chirrut could understand; as impulsive as Chirrut could be, a move, and that without Baze, would be reckless and pointless unless there was a good reason. “So I hurried. Ran into Karrakil.” The way Baze spat the name startled Chirrut, and he gripped Baze’s hand more tightly in question. Baze squeezed his fingers reassuringly, but his voice was like a thundercloud, threatening a storm. “Said you’d moved downstairs, hurried away without telling me more than which door to open. And then—“ Chirrut couldn’t see, but he knew that Baze’s eyebrows were going up, with the look that Baze got when Chirrut did something especially reckless or unexpected. “You nearly took my head off. Then you passed out.”  
  
That was all Chirrut could bear. Pulling at the mask, he burst out, “What?! Why would I—“  
  
Firm hands pressed the mask back down. “Keep breathing with the mask. Just a little longer. Please, Chirrut.” Chirrut relaxed back at that, amazed, as Baze sighed. “The moment I stepped into that room the air quality detector on my suit went crazy. Chirrut, that room had a near-lethal concentration of waste gases that were slowly poisoning you. From what I saw in those couple moments, there was no ventilation at all, nowhere for the bad air to go. I…” His hand gripped Chirrut’s hard, suddenly. “It’s a wonder you lasted as long as you did, if that was how things were.”  
  
Baze fell silent, and Chirrut digested what he’d said. In the silence Baze shifted, letting go of Chirrut in favor of moving something beside the pallet. Baze pressed a small flat rectangle to Chirrut’s fingertip. Chirrut huffed as he felt a pinprick, and after a few seconds a machine beeped a rising tone. Baze sighed, and said lowly, “Your blood oxygen is getting better. I think you can take off the mask, at least for a few moments.” His voice grew stern. “But if you start to feel dizzy or confused, it’s going right back on.” Chirrut snorted a sudden laugh and Baze’s tone grew cross. “Old fool, I’m trying to help you, so listen to what I say for once.”  
  
Chirrut fumbled the straps of the mask up and over his head, sighing as his face was freed. “Ah, better! Well. More comfortable.” He grinned cheekily at his friend, then pushed himself up to a sitting position, running a hand over his head.  
  
“I . . . ” Chirrut frowned, unsure where to begin. He started with, “I had no idea about the air. I didn’t spend every night in that place, while you were gone. I felt restless, and the Force was calling.” Baze snorted quietly and Chirrut wrinkled his forehead at him. “Being out was fine, but being in that place was . . . strange. I was so tired . . . ” Now that Chirrut knew there was a reason, he felt like a fool in truth. “I had bad dreams, but they seemed so real. I thought I heard . . . ” He stumbled to a halt, unsure what to say. “I must have been hallucinating?” The statement came out as a question, and Baze rumbled deep in his chest. Chirrut shivered, unnerved. “It seemed so real, Baze, but when I reached out no one was there.”  
  
“How did you end up in there, instead of staying in our apartment?” Baze’s question took Chirrut off-guard, and he blinked at his friend. He sounded genuinely puzzled, and Chirrut felt a stab of concern.  
  
“Ah! Baze, bad news.” Baze grunted in question, leaning forward. Chirrut continued, “That first night you left—Baze, the slavers came, they trashed the place. They left threats, destroyed our things. I came home to a disaster, and Karrakil went spare. He wanted to throw us out, but I demanded a place to stay, so he said I could stay downstairs—“  
  
“Fool!” Baze’s reprimand stung, and Chirrut lifted his chin, his eyes narrowing. Baze continued hurriedly, “Chirrut! Not you. _Karrakil._ That place he put you in—it was a death sentence! If I’d returned and you’d been—“  
  
Baze cut himself off, and Chirrut lowered his voice even as he touched two fingers to his friend’s shoulder, taut with misery and delayed anxiety. “I’m all right. You came in time, and I’m all right.” Baze’s hand rose to grasp his own once again, tight, and Chirrut gripped his fingers in return, feeling a wash of nausea at the close call mixed with relief. _All is as the Force wills it._  
  
Baze’s silence felt strange to Chirrut, and he said in question, “Baze?”  
  
“It couldn’t have been.”  
  
Chirrut blinked. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“It couldn’t have been the slavers, Chirrut.” Baze’s voice sounded louder, closer, and Chirrut felt him turning toward him in urgent sincerity. “They were holed up in caves a day’s speeder ride from the city. We had eyes on them from that first night going forward. There’s no way it could have been them, I’m sure of it—“  
  
“What?” Chirrut felt off-balance now, and a bloom of angry confusion unfurled in his head, making his temples throb. “But then who—“  
  
“Baze? Chirrut?” Killi’s gentle voice cut through their conversation, and they both turned to face her at the door, Chirrut smiling widely at the relief in her voice. “Chirrut, you look better. Do you feel well enough for a visitor? She says she knows you.”  
  
Baze’s voice sounded surprised. “A visitor?”  
  
“She says her name is Mirwen.”  
  
“Ah!” Chirrut sat up straighter, running hands down the front of his robes to smooth them and giving a genuine smile. “Yes! I’d be happy to see her.” As the door closed behind Killi, Chirrut said quickly to Baze, “She’s a neighbor who helped me collect our things, without you there—“  
  
Baze’s hand squeezed Chirrut’s. “I understand.” Baze’s voice was calm, and he dropped the touch as the door opened again. Chirrut could hear Mirwen’s soft footsteps hesitate just inside the door, then approach more quickly than Chirrut would have expected.  
  
“Guardian Îmwe! Oh— Excuse me, Guardian Malbus—“  
  
“Just Baze,” Baze growled, but with no heat to it. “No ‘Guardian’.”  
  
“And you can call me Chirrut,” Chirrut chirped. “Mirwen, such a surprise! Baze, Mirwen helped me while you were gone—“  
  
“Not enough!” Mirwen burst out. Chirrut was startled to hear her voice sounded close to tears. “Are you all right, Guar— Guardian Chirrut?”  
  
Chirrut stifled a laugh at the confused honorific, and said easily, “Yes, Mirwen, I’ll be fine. Baze returned just in time, you see.”  
  
Chirrut could hear Mirwen’s breathing, as if she was pulling back from the edge of tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” she said, her voice small. “I was— I was afraid, and I didn’t know that you’d be—“ She stopped, and swallowed loudly enough that Chirrut could hear it.  
  
This time Baze broke the silence, his voice surprisingly gentle. “What do you want to tell us, Mirwen?”  
  
Mirwen took a trembling breath. “Guar— B-Baze. I, I helped Guardian Chirrut because, because— It was Karrakil!” She huffed out a breath, voice strengthening with righteous indignation. “Karrakil was the one who wrecked your place, and even then it wasn’t that badly ruined—he broke the door, yes, but he mostly smashed your things, nothing was destroyed inside—there was no writing—“ She was stumbling over her words, took a deep breath, steadied. “I—I heard him speaking to a new tenant that wanted a room immediately. He owed him— and when you were gone—“ Mirwen’s voice cracked as she plowed on, “I wanted to tell you then, but I couldn’t take the chance he’d throw me out, I’m sorry! I, I didn’t know the air would be bad— If I had I would have—“ Mirwen fell silent for a moment. “Will you really be all right?” Mirwen’s voice was very small, and Chirrut put on a beaming smile.  
  
“Why yes! I just felt I needed some more attention, don’t you know. Not as if this was serious! And the Force protected me.” If Baze snorted any harder Chirrut would be afraid he’d fall over. Chirrut grinned and said lightly, “You’ve been a very good neighbor, Mirwen. Next time we see you we’ll have to take you out for noodles, get to know you better.” He winked, amused at her making a startled-confused sound, and could picture the stuffed look Baze was using to conceal his laughter.  
  
Mirwen spoke one more time. “I’m glad, Guardian Chirrut. B-Baze. I’d better go.”  
  
Baze’s voice was sincere and deep. “Thank you, Mirwen.”  
  
“May the Force of others be with you,” Chirrut said, and smiled as she slipped out of the room. Baze’s hand engulfed his once more, and he squeezed it happily until he felt Baze’s other hand putting the mask back over his face. Chirrut batted at it and spluttered a protest.      
  
Baze’s voice was amused. “Apparently the only way to keep you from spouting nonsense is to keep this thing muzzling you.” Chirrut tugged at it petulantly, and Baze said more gently, “Get your blood oxygen levels up more quickly this way. Just give it a chance, Chirrut.” Chirrut subsided, flopping back on the bed but not fighting Baze’s care. Baze’s voice came again as Chirrut squeezed his hand happily, a wash of relief flooding over him. “Seems like we have words to share with Karrakil, Chirrut. I can manage that while—“  
  
Chirrut plucked the mask away, interjecting, “Baze Malbus, if you think you’re leaving me here while you go scare the robes off our crooked landlord you have the judgment as a near-sighted bantha!”  
  
Chirrut could feel Baze shaking with laughter as he pressed the mask back into place over Chirrut’s face. “Fine, old fool. We’ll go give him the message together. I have just the idea of what the best justice would be.”

  
❊    ❊    ❊

  
Baze’s payment from capturing the slavers was large; large enough that when they cornered Karrakil and shared in very few words what they’d tell people about him—what they’d DO because of his actions if he didn’t cooperate—that Karrakil crumpled like an empty water pack and took the money in exchange for the right to the property, disappearing overnight.  
  
Mirwen, attentive Mirwen, was surprised and delighted at the offer of a job managing the apartment and its tenants. The money earned from it would be used for her salary, to fix up the dangerous ventilation in the basement and the damage to Chirrut and Baze’s apartment, and to support the orphanage with whatever was left over. Chirrut thought there wouldn’t be much left over for a while, but he still had his alms bowl for that, and more importantly he had Baze at his side, safe and sound.  
  
Baze had similar thoughts, and found things to say to Chirrut as they sat together in the marketplace not long after. “Don’t do that again, dreamer. Fighting enemies you can’t see is your specialty,” Baze said in a dry voice, “but once in a while you need me after all.”  
  
“All is as the Force wills it,” Chirrut says confidently, and at Baze’s unseen eyeroll adds, “and I hope that the Force wills you to stay close for a long, long time, old friend. Things are changing, and I want you here at my side.”  
  
Baze nodded beside him, his hand coming to rest on Chirrut’s shoulder. “Where you go, I go.” Chirrut could feel the smile between them as fresh and invigorating as the oxygen in his lungs. Things were far from perfect, but for now there was more justice on Jedha because of their efforts, and they were together.  
  
They would follow the leading of the Force into their future.


End file.
